ssing himself to the Dean, "put all the strings of
the Irish harp in tune, it will yield your Reverence a double pleasure,
and perhaps put me out of my senses with joy." Macgowran, in a short
time, presented the Dean with a literal translation, for which he
rewarded him very liberally, and recommended him to the protection of
Mr. Gore, who behaved with great kindness to him as long as he lived.
To this incident we are indebted for the translation of a song or poem,
which may be called a true picture of an Irish feast, where every one
was welcome to eat what he pleased, to drink what he pleased, to say
what he pleased, to sing what he pleased, to fight when he pleased, to
sleep when he pleased, and to dream what he pleased; where all was
native--their dress the produce of their own shuttle--their cups and
tables the growth of their own woods--their whiskey _warm from the still
and faithful to its fires_! The Dean, however, did not translate the
whole of the poem; the remaining stanzas were translated some years
since by Mr. Wilson, as follow:--

Who rais'd this alarm?
Says one of the clergy,
And threat'ning severely,
Cease fighting, I charge ye.

A good knotted staff,
The full of his hand,
Instead of the _Spiradis_,
Back'd his command.

So falling to thrash,
Fast as he was able,
A trip and a box
Stretch'd him under the table.

Then rose a big friar,
To settle them straight,
But the back of the fire
Was quickly his fate.

From whence he cried out,
Do you thus treat your _pastors_!
Ye that scarcely were bred
To the _sewn wise masters_;

That when with the Pope
I was getting my lore,
Ye were roasting potatoes
At the foot of _Sheemor_.

SWIFT'S BEHAVIOR AT TABLE.

Swift's manner of entertaining his guests, and his behavior at table,
were curious. A frequent visitor thus described them: He placed himself
at the head of the table, and opposite to a great pier glass, so that he
could see whatever his servants did at the marble side-board behind his
chair. He was served entirely in plate, and with great elegance. The
beef being once over-roasted, he called for the cook-maid to take it
down stairs and do it less. The girl very innocently replied that she
could not. "Why, what sort of a creature are you," exclaimed he, "to
commit a fault which cannot be mended?" Then, turning to one that sat